


Hide in the Cupboard Moment

by stickyrice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Kidlock, mythea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2498204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/pseuds/stickyrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This moment now is a hide in a cupboard moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide in the Cupboard Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the hide in the cupboard moment in Clones with Mark Gatiss and the battle stations scene in Sigh of Three from BBC Sherlock.
> 
> Rated T for the mildest swearing ever, but still.

The space was small and cramped; it was just the size that had previously, many years ago fit two young boys and a red Irish setter, but now was just enough space to fit one grown man with enough leg room to wiggle his toes.

The walls were white washed, never having been exactly finished, with scattered markings and drawings in the scrawl of a boy pirate and his first mate or two budding scientists and their experimental hypothesis’. There were tiny scorch marks along the walls where there was a slim protruding ledge, from the use of candles to light the dark space; after the small fire of ‘78 that they just barely concealed from their parents, they had stopped using candles and instead would balance a small torch on the ledge to light the space.

There was a tattered old blanket that was decorated with smiling trains that was covering the wooden floor; it had found its home there in the dark cupboard after young Mycroft had protested quite adamantly about the absurdity of talking, smiling trains, and how it would only serve to create unrealistic expectations for his younger, and more impressionable brother. However both boys secretly enjoyed the stories, but did not want their parents to think them children, so they hid it away in their secret spot, out of the eyes of prying adults.

Shifting in his position, Mycroft folded his long limbs into a shape that closely resembled a pretzel, with his back resting against the wall. Reaching out a hand he traced his fingers along the scratches in the wall; here be pirates: Captain Sherlock, First Mate Mycroft, and trusty companion Redbeard.

A small smile played on his lips as he remembered the day they had stumbled upon the small cupboard in the wall of his bedroom. Their parents had thrown a party; it had been a social exhibition of the who’s who of the upper class. There had been so many people and so much noise; all the kisses, cheek pinching, and cooing about how darling they were was enough to make any person scream, but for the two socially removed Holmes boys, it was all they could do to find somewhere to hide from all the stupid that had invaded their home.

They had first tried the library, but Mummy had found them within minutes, scolding them to be more polite. Then the wine cellar, but cook had ratted them out. They had retreated up to Mycroft’s room with the pretense of fetching something that they could play with the other children with. Upon looking around the room, Mycroft had spied a tear in the wallpaper near his desk. Going over to the offending paper, he ran his hand along it to smooth it back in place, when he felt what appeared to be a small door hinge. Intrigued, he went to fetch his small pocket knife that Father had given him for his birthday that year. Feeling along the wall, he ran the knife along the seam, cutting an incision into the paper revealing a door shaped cut out in the wall. Wedging his knife in the seam, he pried the small doorway open.

“Mine!” shouted Sherlock as he nudged Mycroft aside and scrambled into the small space, his frame almost shaking with excitement at the new and undiscovered; just like a pirate exploring the seven seas he thought to himself.

Grabbing a small torch from his bedside drawer, Mycroft rolled his eyes, crouched down and crawled in behind his brother, “It can’t be yours Sherlock, this is my room” he said with some exasperation colouring his voice, although he was too curious at the new discovery to really be too annoyed with his little brother.

They had spent that day hidden away in the small, cramped cupboard, their absence eventually creating hysteria and manhunt after it was noticed that the Holmes boys had been missing for hours and were not in their usual haunts. Appearing several hours later to their hysterical mother and frantic father, covered in dust with bits of cobwebs in their hair, all the boys could do was shrug their shoulders and mumble an apology. Suffice to say that they were confined to the house for the rest of the summer was an understatement, but that did not matter much to them, now that they had discovered their new safe heaven for when the outside world became too much or was much too stupid for them.

Smiling at the fond memories; the days before the drugs; before the rift in their relationship; before he was the British government and Sherlock a consulting detective, his thoughts were interrupted by the creak of his bedroom door opening.

At the sound, he stilled his moment and tried scarcely not to breath, least he give away his hiding spot. In all of their years, he doesn’t think that Mummy or Father ever knew about their hiding spot; yes, he knew that they had known they were somewhere in the house, but he was sure they didn’t know exactly where.

Straining his ears, he tried to discern who had come into his room. There was a soft, relived sigh, followed by a dull thud as one shoe after another hit the carpeted floor. So it was most likely not his mother, he deduced. There was an accompanying exasperated huff as said person flopped back onto his bed. Definitely not his mother.

Weighing his options and calculating the risk of bodily harm coming to him, he decided that it was most likely in his best interest to show himself, although he knew that he was not going to come out of this confrontation unscratched. For Queen and country he silently recited in his head, something he always did when facing a difficult decision.

With a loud creak, he pushed the small door open. At the sound in the otherwise quiet room, Anthea started; she had thought she was alone in the room, having just escaped what was now going to be her future mother in law. Her head whipped to the side to the source of the noise, only to be met with the sight of Mycroft Holmes, the British government himself, head poking out of a small crevice in the wall, his expression sheepish and contrite.

Her face darkened at the sight of him; her eyes narrowing to tiny slits, her cheeks puffing out in anger, and her lips forming a hard, tight line.

“You!” she exclaimed, point an accusing finger at him.

“I cannot believe you, you rat bastard!” her voice climbing higher with her mounting hysteria.  

“Anthea...I... please, I can explain” he stammered out, as he crawled out of the small space, dust and cobwebs slinging to his bespoke suite, not that he paid it much attention.

“Don’t you Anthea me! I cannot believe that you left me alone to your mother, you big coward” came her terse reply.

In the distance he could hear footsteps mounting the stairs and the voice of his mother calling out to him and then her. His eyes widened in fear.

“Shhh” he shushed her, his fingers to his lips, giving her a pleading look.

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief “You did not just shush...”

“My mother is coming...” he interrupted her as he strode over to her quickly; grabbing her hand he hauled her to her feet and practically dragged her to the small opening in the wall. She had half a mind to serve him up on a silver platter to Violet Holmes, but after the morning she just had, she would not wish that on her worst enemy, so she let him pull her along, and followed behind him into cupboard, all the while shooting him daggers with her eyes; if looks could kill he would have been six feet under already.

If there was just enough space to two young boys and a dog when he was younger, there was absolutely not enough space for two grown people.

Pulling the door closed and securing the small latch hook, the pair shuffled and climbed over each other until she was situated in his lap, the only way that they would both be able to fit into the small space.

Her arms crossed over her chest tightly, she refused to look at him.

He ran his hands up and down her arms in a gentle motion, trying to calm her down. As he felt her slightly relax under his ministrations, he wound his arms around her waist and rested his forehead against her back.

Letting out a deep sigh, the puff of his is breathe seeping into her cloths to warm her skin, she waited silently for him to speak.

“... I did say lemming” he said with a hopeful tinge to his voice.

Her head whipped around at him, her face incredulous, “Lemming?! How does that apply, that is the code word for ‘battle stations, someone’s going to die’”

“You don’t know Mummy, I could have very well died!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with fright that more resembled that of a child talking about the bogie man, than a grown man speaking of his mother.

“I figured she would not hurt you because you are her sole chance at grandbabies, me on the other; she doesn’t need me anymore now that you are the carrier of said grandbaby” he told her his brow frowned in earnest.  

Sparing him a look, what she saw shocked and pulled at her heart strings, instead of seeing the all powerful Mycroft Holmes, she saw a young boy who was still afraid of Mummy. A small laugh bubbled up, and she rolled her eyes; she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips at the sight of him, god help her, but she did love this overgrown man-child.

He gave her a petulant look, his lip jutting out in (an adorable) pout; he gave a huff, folding his arms over his chest, “It’s not funny, Mummy can be right scary, you know”

Patting him on the cheek placatingly, she replied with a small indulgent smile on her lips, “Of course she is darling”

They sat in silence for a while; his hands wrapped around her waist, hands intertwined and resting on her stomach, both lost in thought. Her thinking about all of the trouble that child and father will no doubt get into because for all of his bravo and icy exterior, Mycroft Holmes was still a child at heart; and him thinking about what provisions they would need to live out the weekend in the cupboard, hiding from Mummy.

 “You do know that this is not over and that I will exact my revenge Mycroft Holmes” she said breaking the contemplative silence.

Hearing footsteps approaching his bedroom, they both held still, not daring to make a move. The door to the bedroom creaked open, and his mother’s voice could be heard calling into the apparent empty room, slight confusion in her voice; she was sure Anthea had come up here, and she was sure she had heard Mycroft’s voice, but the room was empty. With a shrug, she closed the bedroom door behind her and continued her search for the couple.

Letting out a breath that she didn’t know she was holding, she met his eyes “We should go and talk to her” she said.

Shaking his head, Mycroft replied in all seriousness, “Throughout my long service in government, I have learned something very important; every great leader has to know when to attack, and when to hide in a cupboard. This moment now is a hide in a cupboard moment”


End file.
